knew better than to question the black about his people.
Stanley Dann had no fear of blacks or endless trek or flood or heat or drought. As the difficulties imperceptibly increased so did his cheer and courage and faith. On Sundays he held a short religious service which all were importuned to attend. Sterl noted, as the spell of the wilderness worked upon the minds of the trekkers, that the attendance gradually decreased. Faith had not failed Stanley Dann, but it had lost its hold on the others, who retrograded toward the primitive.
Sterl saw all this, understood it only vaguely. Ormiston had already succumbed to this backward step in evolution. Red would succumb to it unless a genuine love for Beryl Dann proved too strong for this life in the raw. All the drovers were being affected, and Sterl felt that not many of them would turn out gods.
Beryl responded slowly but surely to this urge. And in her, its first effect was a growth of her natural instinct for acquisition of admirers. Every night at Dann's camp a half dozen or more young drovers vied with Ormiston and Red for her smiles. Red played his game differently from his rivals. He confined his efforts to serving Beryl, so that the girl seemed to rely upon him while being piqued that he was not at her feet. Ormiston's inordinate jealousy grew.
Leslie, being the youngest in the trek, and a girl of red blood and spirit, traveled more rapidly than the rest of them in her relegation to the physical. For weeks after that sunset hour in the gateway of the pass, she had avoided being alone with Sterl. But her shyness gradually fell away from her, and as the trek went on through austere days and nights of time and distance, she warmed anew to him.
But Sterl had never transgressed again, as at that mad and unrestrained sunset climax, though there were times when he desired it almost overwhelmingly. Nevertheless love had come to him once more. Yet he never let himself dwell upon a future. For many of Stanley Dann's troop, and very possibly for him, there would be none.
"Plenty smoke," said Friday one afternoon when camp had been made on a dry stream bed, with only a few waterholes.
Sterl and Slyter, together at the campfire when Friday spoke, scanned the horizon where at the moment all was clear.
"Friday, what you mean?" queried Slyter, anxiously, "We come far." He held up three fingers. "Moons--three moons. Plenty smokes. No black man. All same alonga tomorrow?"
"Black fella close up. Plenty black fella. Come more. Bimeby no more smokes. Spear cattle--steal!"
"How long, Friday? When?"
"Mebbe soon--mebbe bimeby."
Slyter looked apprehensively at Sterl, and threw up his hands.
"Let's go tell Stanley."
They found their leader, as had happened before, patiently listening to Ormiston. Sterl's keen eyes noted a graying of Dann's hair over his temples.
Slyter broke the news. Dann stroked his golden beard.
"At last, eh? We are grateful for this long respite," he said, his eyes lighting as if with good news.
"I asked Friday what to do? He said, 'Watchum close up! Killum!'" concluded Slyter.
"Well! For a black to advise that!" exclaimed the leader, ponderingly. "But I do not advise bloodshed."
"I do," declared Ormiston, bluntly. "If we don't, this nigger mob will grow beyond our power to cope with it. They will hang on our trek, spearing cattle at a distance."
Sterl wondered what was working in this man's mind to influence him thus. But it seemed wise advice. "Boss, I agree with Ormiston," he spoke up.
"What's your opinion, Slyter?" asked Dann.
"If the blacks spear our cattle and menace us, then I say kill."
Dann nodded his huge head in sad realization. "We will take things as they come. Merge all the cattle into one mob..."
"I told you I'd not agree to that," interrupted Ormiston.
"Don't regard it as my order. I ask you to help me to that extent," returned the leader, with patient persuasion.
"Ormiston, listen," interposed Sterl. "I've had to do with a good many
Stanley Dann had no fear of blacks or endless trek or flood or heat or drought. As the difficulties imperceptibly increased so did his cheer and courage and faith. On Sundays he held a short religious service which all were importuned to attend. Sterl noted, as the spell of the wilderness worked upon the minds of the trekkers, that the attendance gradually decreased. Faith had not failed Stanley Dann, but it had lost its hold on the others, who retrograded toward the primitive.
Sterl saw all this, understood it only vaguely. Ormiston had already succumbed to this backward step in evolution. Red would succumb to it unless a genuine love for Beryl Dann proved too strong for this life in the raw. All the drovers were being affected, and Sterl felt that not many of them would turn out gods.
Beryl responded slowly but surely to this urge. And in her, its first effect was a growth of her natural instinct for acquisition of admirers. Every night at Dann's camp a half dozen or more young drovers vied with Ormiston and Red for her smiles. Red played his game differently from his rivals. He confined his efforts to serving Beryl, so that the girl seemed to rely upon him while being piqued that he was not at her feet. Ormiston's inordinate jealousy grew.
Leslie, being the youngest in the trek, and a girl of red blood and spirit, traveled more rapidly than the rest of them in her relegation to the physical. For weeks after that sunset hour in the gateway of the pass, she had avoided being alone with Sterl. But her shyness gradually fell away from her, and as the trek went on through austere days and nights of time and distance, she warmed anew to him.
But Sterl had never transgressed again, as at that mad and unrestrained sunset climax, though there were times when he desired it almost overwhelmingly. Nevertheless love had come to him once more. Yet he never let himself dwell upon a future. For many of Stanley Dann's troop, and very possibly for him, there would be none.
"Plenty smoke," said Friday one afternoon when camp had been made on a dry stream bed, with only a few waterholes.
Sterl and Slyter, together at the campfire when Friday spoke, scanned the horizon where at the moment all was clear.
"Friday, what you mean?" queried Slyter, anxiously, "We come far." He held up three fingers. "Moons--three moons. Plenty smokes. No black man. All same alonga tomorrow?"
"Black fella close up. Plenty black fella. Come more. Bimeby no more smokes. Spear cattle--steal!"
"How long, Friday? When?"
"Mebbe soon--mebbe bimeby."
Slyter looked apprehensively at Sterl, and threw up his hands.
"Let's go tell Stanley."
They found their leader, as had happened before, patiently listening to Ormiston. Sterl's keen eyes noted a graying of Dann's hair over his temples.
Slyter broke the news. Dann stroked his golden beard.
"At last, eh? We are grateful for this long respite," he said, his eyes lighting as if with good news.
"I asked Friday what to do? He said, 'Watchum close up! Killum!'" concluded Slyter.
"Well! For a black to advise that!" exclaimed the leader, ponderingly. "But I do not advise bloodshed."
"I do," declared Ormiston, bluntly. "If we don't, this nigger mob will grow beyond our power to cope with it. They will hang on our trek, spearing cattle at a distance."
Sterl wondered what was working in this man's mind to influence him thus. But it seemed wise advice. "Boss, I agree with Ormiston," he spoke up.
"What's your opinion, Slyter?" asked Dann.
"If the blacks spear our cattle and menace us, then I say kill."
Dann nodded his huge head in sad realization. "We will take things as they come. Merge all the cattle into one mob..."
"I told you I'd not agree to that," interrupted Ormiston.
"Don't regard it as my order. I ask you to help me to that extent," returned the leader, with patient persuasion.
"Ormiston, listen," interposed Sterl. "I've had to do with a good many
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